Anthology (ăn-thŏl'ə-jē)

A collection of literary pieces, such as poems, short stories, or plays.

Prologue

An old man sat by the fireplace of his home, thinking. He sat in his chair, with a mug of warm chocolate on his lap, and a furry, old Saint Bernard nestled at his feet.

He sat there, rocking his chair from time to time, and listening to winter, as it blew outside, just beyond the glass panes of the windows. He listened to the sounds of the house, and marvelled at the quiet peace that was now in him, and at how he could finally lie here and rest.

The large dog stirred, only to reposition itself, and then settle back into sleep on the rug. The old man smiled at it, and thought of times when the world was still young for him, when this dog was still a puppy, and when he was still a young man.

"Grandpa! Grandpa, are you there?"

Knocking sounds came from behind the wooden door, and slowly, the old man stood up from his chair. His eyes crinkled at the sides when he recognized those young voices. His grandchildren rarely visited him, but when they did, he couldn't wish for more.

"Coming," he answered, opening the door for them.

The cold of the drifting snow blasted into the warm house, as three figures stepped from the dark outside into the bright inside of the old man's home. Two of them were very short, and the last was only a tad taller than the man. He squinted, but was not able to see any of them, because there was no light. All he caught was a sliver of red from the tallest one's hair.

They took their coats off, with the young children squealing happily as they rushed to hug their grandfather. Their mother just stood there, watching and smiling, as the man with violet eyes laughed and hugged his grandchildren.

"Look at you, you're almost as big as I am!" the old man measured from the little boy's head, up to his waist, while the child smiled at him proudly.

"What about me, grandpa?" asked the little girl impatiently.

"And here's the pretty young thing! Come and give grandpa a kiss," Smiling, she rushed to hug the old man, pecking him on his cheek.

After the pleasantries were exchanged, the children went off to play with the dog, which they'd named Pingu-sama, and the old man sat down again. This time, it was the mother's turn to move, smiling at her father quietly.

"Nice to see you again, otou-san."

Sitting down in his chair again, the man smiled slightly at his only daughter. He looked at her, studied her, and marvelled at how she looked so much like her mother, now that she was a grown woman. Of course, she had his eyes.

"Saki." He said.

She took something out from her coat; it was a flat black object. Saki handed it to him, watching for his reaction.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at her questioningly. She stared at him.

"It's for you."

"Yes, but what is it?"

"You don't know? It's been in circulation for a long time now; and I only got a copy of it after Miriallia-san gave me one."

The old man opened the flat object.

It was a book.

"Anthology," he read aloud, "Stories, poems and music collected from the lives of extraordinary people."

He paused and flipped a page. "Who's the author?" The woman shrugged. "I don't know, and neither does Miriallia-san. It's strange actually."

The old man nodded, and flipped another page. His eyes rested on it for a moment, before they filled with tears.

Dedicated to Kira Yamato.

He turned his head up to meet Saki's eyes, which were shining brightly. As the old man spoke, he felt his voice crack.

"How—how did you—"

"Look! Granpa has the book!" The voice of the small boy drifted into the room, and the children's footsteps followed, along with the harassed Pingu-sama. Before their mother could tell them off, both had already bounded into their grandfather's lap.

"Read it to us, please, grandpa?" they begged. The old man nodded wordlessly. He turned a few more pages, to the start of the first chapter.

It started, like most books did, with words of introduction.

"Once upon a time…"

And then, he began.